Fic: Moose and Squirrel (2/5)
Masterpost
Part I: Squirrel
Part II: Moose
I watched Dean go. He blurred into the shadows of the drainpipe much sooner than he would’ve done if I’d been human.
Being colourblind as a moose didn’t help.
I huffed, startling myself when it came out sounding a lot more violently dangerous than I’d intended.
Then, when I heard someone honk from the road, I figured I’d be better off out of sight. I went around the side of the house to the back.
The yard hadn’t seen a mower or clippers for far too long. The grass was overgrown, knee-high in some places. The hedge, which probably hadn’t been very neat to begin with, looked like it was about to become sentient. The windows were shut and the curtains drawn. I probably wouldn’t have been able to see anything in any case, but it was depressing that I couldn’t even try. I looked up at the roof, and I think I squinted (can a moose squint?) but everything was a grey blur. I had no idea where Dean was or what was up with him.
(Shut up, Dean. You would have been just as worried.)
There was nothing else for it, so I curled up on the ground as best I could - it was hard getting down without my front legs and my back legs sort of tangling and sending me sprawling, and it took me a couple of tries to manage it.
I was starting to have a lot of sympathy for Bambi.
(Oh, god, shut up, Dean! You weren’t supposed to hear that.)
Eventually I must have dozed off, because the next thing I knew something small and furry landed on my nose. I let out a snort of surprise and tried to grab for it, forgot I didn’t have hands, and ended up in an undignified heap.
Sammy! Came what I was starting to recognize as Dean’s voice. Calm down, kiddo. Just me.
Dean? Where are you?
Here. Something tugged my ear.
Stop pulling my ear, Dean. And get down where I can see you.
Something tickled the top of my head, and then my field of vision was full of grey fur and tiny paws and a distractingly fluffy tail. (In case I wasn’t clear, it was Dean’s tiny paws and fluffy tail. So it’s actually good there are pictures of it online, because Dean had a fluffy tail.)
I found something, Dean said, bouncing off my nose onto the grass. Grey grass. Whoever lived here - probably a witch. Or a wannabe witch at the very least. There’s a book that says something about animal transformations. Come see.
You think it has a cure?
Looks like a spell book to me. I don’t want to waste time reading it. What do I have my trusty sidekick Geekmoose for? C’mon, come see. It’s inside.
I started to get to my feet, and found that it was even more complicated than lying down had been. I got my forelegs up, and before I could follow with my hind legs I’d lost my balance and had a face full of grass. I tried again, hind legs first this time, and I almost tumbled head-over-heels.
It didn’t help that I could hear Dean’s maniacal laughter in my head.
(Yeah, maniacal is exactly the word I’d use to describe it, Dean. You sounded exactly like Belloq in Raiders.)
Come on, Dean said at last. I’ll steer. Can’t be too hard.
He scampered up my nose to the top of my head again. I was getting really, really tired of being a jungle gym, but of course it’d be no good telling Dean that.
Right foreleg, he said. Come on, Sammy, you can do it.
It took a couple of attempts, but eventually I was on my feet.
Awesome. Inside, now. I got the back door open for you, because I’m just that awesome. Come on. Forward march.
Enough with the drill sergeant, Dean, I grumbled, going to the open back door.
I fully intended to go in, but only my nose made it through the doorway. Then I felt a sudden sharp pain in my head, and before I knew what was happening I was on my ass on the grass with my skull feeling like someone was driving nails into it.
Crap! Sammy! Dean’s voice was right in my ear. I forgot your antlers. I’m sorry, Sammy. I felt something stroke the side of my head, and a little paw squeeze just right so the pain receded a little. Easy.
What happened? Am I dying?
Dean snickered, but he kept rubbing my head. You’re going to be fine, you big baby. The house, not so much.
I looked up. The plaster had cracked on either side of the doorway, well over the top of it.
I could try turning going through it sideways.
Dean scoffed, scampering to the other side of my head and rubbing there. Have you seen you? You’re even bigger than usual, Sammy. No, you can’t go in to the book. We’re going to have to figure out a way to bring it out to you.
Where is it?
Upstairs. I suppose I could push it out a window.
I cringed. We were desperate, yeah, but not so desperate that we needed to be dropping books onto damp grass.
Isn’t there another way? Or we could lay a couple of mattresses on the ground. Keep the dew off -
Sam! Dean waved his tail (did I mention Dean had a fluffy tail?) in front of my eyes. I’m a squirrel. I can’t move mattresses around. Don’t even know how I’m going to push the book, but at least it’s on a table by the window. It’s fine. Evil book like that can probably take a bit of dew.
You could read it.
I don’t want to. Come on, Sammy. It’ll be fine.
Yeah, OK, I said, because we really were out of options. Do it.
Dean jumped off my head, landing lightly on four paws. I got to my feet carefully, watching him scurry away until he blurred into the background of the house.
I couldn’t see Dean, but I could hear the pushing and shoving and little flying-squirrel grunting as he got the book to the upstairs window. Then there was a Head’s up, Moosette and the book thumped onto the grass.
A minute later, Dean landed on my head.
I’m not a moosette, I told him. That’s not even a word. And I’m not a damn helipad, Dean.
Awww, don’t be like that. Dean leapt off my nose and glided to the grass. (No, I don’t think I need to add the adjective ‘gracefully’ to that.)
I looked at the book -
And realized I couldn’t open it.
Dean.
Yeah? Dean asked, turning to me. He stared for a moment before he realized the problem. Awww, does Samantha need help?
Dean!
It’s ironic, isn’t it, that of the two of us, you’ve turned into the animal that can’t handle books.
Dean, I wheedled.
Yeah, yeah, fine. He went to the book and flipped it open. Here you go, Your Royal Mooseness. Tell me which page I need to go to next.
I had to get up really close to the book to be able to read it, and Dean took his sweet time turning the pages the way I needed them, but in the end we got there.
The spell, I said, and Dean left what he was doing to climb up on my head again and look down at the page. This must be it. Transmutatio. Spell that can turn one animal into another, including humans. The page was covered with scribbles, notes, and little diagrams in the margins.
How does it work?
Scale of a dragon, feather from a griffon… Griffons are real? I hope we don’t run into one of those one day. Huh. Hair from a werewolf. I suppose that’s what helps with the transformation part of it.
And an onion, Dean added from above me. What kind of crazy-ass spell needs an onion?
And who put it on us? Look at it. She needs to mix up this… crap… And then sprinkle the stuff on the road and the first people to cross it are cursed. So whoever it was must’ve done it right before we came, it’s a busy road.
You think someone has it in for us? Dean asked.
I snorted.
Yeah, I see what you mean, Dean agreed. Fine. So… Where is this person now?
Missing? I shook my head, making Dean squeak and clutch my ear. Doesn’t matter. See, there’s the counter-spell.
Looks even harder than the actual spell. Birch twigs cut at the full moon? Where do we even find that? And… OK, all this Wiccan crap we could get easily enough normally, but neither of us can exactly go shopping now.
And the fountain, I muttered.
The text said fountain of starlight, whatever the hell that meant, but one of the notes in the margins pointed to it. Map, pg. 29.
The spellbook definitely hadn’t had a map on page 29.
Hey, Dean. You want to go back inside?
Dean bit my ear, probably just to be annoying, but he scarpered down and back over to the house. (No, you didn’t nip it, Dean. You bit my ear.)
I knew it would take a while, and I was starting to get hungry, so I tried a bite of some of the knee-high grass. I figured I was probably doing a favour to whoever owned the place, and it didn’t taste awful - kind of like alfalfa sprouts.
I’d cropped a fair bit of it when I got the sudden feeling I was being watched.
If I’d had hands, one would’ve been on my Taurus in a heartbeat. As it was, I went as still as I could, stiller than I ever could’ve gone as a human, even a hunter.
I couldn’t see worth a dime, but I heard it: soft footsteps in the grass behind me. I swivelled my ears. It sounded like a fairly large person, but I couldn’t tell more than that.
And then I caught a whiff of… something. Something that had all my hunter’s instincts screaming -
Gunpowder.
I turned, head down ready to charge. There was a figure, a man. He was shorter than the human version of Dean. Bulky, though that could’ve been the way he was dressed.
He moved, and sunlight glinted on something in his hands.
I was pretty sure it wasn’t binoculars.
There was a deafening report, a bright flash, and a line of burning pain down my right shoulder. I staggered for a moment, and then I did the only thing I could - I ran straight at him. He screamed and fired again. Fortunately that shot went wide; I didn’t see where it went but it was nowhere near me.
Then he ran.
I chased him enough to see him disappear into the trees, enough to be certain he wasn’t going to come back in a hurry, and then I went back to the house. I had my blurry vision trained on the upstairs windows, so I jumped almost out of my skin when I heard a squirrel chittering, accompanied by Dean’s horrified voice in my head.
Sammy! The now-familiar feeling of something small and furry landing on my head, and then, God, Sammy, what the hell happened?
Hunter, I said tersely, suddenly remembering - and feeling - the gunshot wound. How bad is it?
Let me see. Dean slid down my neck to my shoulder. I let out a breath when I felt tiny paws probe the wound. Easy, easy, kiddo. Just a graze. We should find a stream or something, I can try to clean it out.
Did you find the map?
Yeah, and the fountain’s marked. He climbed back up to my head. So first let’s go back and you can use that geek brain of yours to memorize the map, since we can’t exactly carry it with us. Then we’ll find somewhere to clean off.
I think clean up can wait, I protested.
Dean shifted forward to sit on my nose. I had to cross my eyes to see him. His fur looked a little matted with dark grey splotches of something.
We’re going to clean up, he said flatly.
Part III: Squirrel
Part I: Squirrel
Part II: Moose
I watched Dean go. He blurred into the shadows of the drainpipe much sooner than he would’ve done if I’d been human.
Being colourblind as a moose didn’t help.
I huffed, startling myself when it came out sounding a lot more violently dangerous than I’d intended.
Then, when I heard someone honk from the road, I figured I’d be better off out of sight. I went around the side of the house to the back.
The yard hadn’t seen a mower or clippers for far too long. The grass was overgrown, knee-high in some places. The hedge, which probably hadn’t been very neat to begin with, looked like it was about to become sentient. The windows were shut and the curtains drawn. I probably wouldn’t have been able to see anything in any case, but it was depressing that I couldn’t even try. I looked up at the roof, and I think I squinted (can a moose squint?) but everything was a grey blur. I had no idea where Dean was or what was up with him.
(Shut up, Dean. You would have been just as worried.)
There was nothing else for it, so I curled up on the ground as best I could - it was hard getting down without my front legs and my back legs sort of tangling and sending me sprawling, and it took me a couple of tries to manage it.
I was starting to have a lot of sympathy for Bambi.
(Oh, god, shut up, Dean! You weren’t supposed to hear that.)
Eventually I must have dozed off, because the next thing I knew something small and furry landed on my nose. I let out a snort of surprise and tried to grab for it, forgot I didn’t have hands, and ended up in an undignified heap.
Sammy! Came what I was starting to recognize as Dean’s voice. Calm down, kiddo. Just me.
Dean? Where are you?
Here. Something tugged my ear.
Stop pulling my ear, Dean. And get down where I can see you.
Something tickled the top of my head, and then my field of vision was full of grey fur and tiny paws and a distractingly fluffy tail. (In case I wasn’t clear, it was Dean’s tiny paws and fluffy tail. So it’s actually good there are pictures of it online, because Dean had a fluffy tail.)
I found something, Dean said, bouncing off my nose onto the grass. Grey grass. Whoever lived here - probably a witch. Or a wannabe witch at the very least. There’s a book that says something about animal transformations. Come see.
You think it has a cure?
Looks like a spell book to me. I don’t want to waste time reading it. What do I have my trusty sidekick Geekmoose for? C’mon, come see. It’s inside.
I started to get to my feet, and found that it was even more complicated than lying down had been. I got my forelegs up, and before I could follow with my hind legs I’d lost my balance and had a face full of grass. I tried again, hind legs first this time, and I almost tumbled head-over-heels.
It didn’t help that I could hear Dean’s maniacal laughter in my head.
(Yeah, maniacal is exactly the word I’d use to describe it, Dean. You sounded exactly like Belloq in Raiders.)
Come on, Dean said at last. I’ll steer. Can’t be too hard.
He scampered up my nose to the top of my head again. I was getting really, really tired of being a jungle gym, but of course it’d be no good telling Dean that.
Right foreleg, he said. Come on, Sammy, you can do it.
It took a couple of attempts, but eventually I was on my feet.
Awesome. Inside, now. I got the back door open for you, because I’m just that awesome. Come on. Forward march.
Enough with the drill sergeant, Dean, I grumbled, going to the open back door.
I fully intended to go in, but only my nose made it through the doorway. Then I felt a sudden sharp pain in my head, and before I knew what was happening I was on my ass on the grass with my skull feeling like someone was driving nails into it.
Crap! Sammy! Dean’s voice was right in my ear. I forgot your antlers. I’m sorry, Sammy. I felt something stroke the side of my head, and a little paw squeeze just right so the pain receded a little. Easy.
What happened? Am I dying?
Dean snickered, but he kept rubbing my head. You’re going to be fine, you big baby. The house, not so much.
I looked up. The plaster had cracked on either side of the doorway, well over the top of it.
I could try turning going through it sideways.
Dean scoffed, scampering to the other side of my head and rubbing there. Have you seen you? You’re even bigger than usual, Sammy. No, you can’t go in to the book. We’re going to have to figure out a way to bring it out to you.
Where is it?
Upstairs. I suppose I could push it out a window.
I cringed. We were desperate, yeah, but not so desperate that we needed to be dropping books onto damp grass.
Isn’t there another way? Or we could lay a couple of mattresses on the ground. Keep the dew off -
Sam! Dean waved his tail (did I mention Dean had a fluffy tail?) in front of my eyes. I’m a squirrel. I can’t move mattresses around. Don’t even know how I’m going to push the book, but at least it’s on a table by the window. It’s fine. Evil book like that can probably take a bit of dew.
You could read it.
I don’t want to. Come on, Sammy. It’ll be fine.
Yeah, OK, I said, because we really were out of options. Do it.
Dean jumped off my head, landing lightly on four paws. I got to my feet carefully, watching him scurry away until he blurred into the background of the house.
I couldn’t see Dean, but I could hear the pushing and shoving and little flying-squirrel grunting as he got the book to the upstairs window. Then there was a Head’s up, Moosette and the book thumped onto the grass.
A minute later, Dean landed on my head.
I’m not a moosette, I told him. That’s not even a word. And I’m not a damn helipad, Dean.
Awww, don’t be like that. Dean leapt off my nose and glided to the grass. (No, I don’t think I need to add the adjective ‘gracefully’ to that.)
I looked at the book -
And realized I couldn’t open it.
Dean.
Yeah? Dean asked, turning to me. He stared for a moment before he realized the problem. Awww, does Samantha need help?
Dean!
It’s ironic, isn’t it, that of the two of us, you’ve turned into the animal that can’t handle books.
Dean, I wheedled.
Yeah, yeah, fine. He went to the book and flipped it open. Here you go, Your Royal Mooseness. Tell me which page I need to go to next.
I had to get up really close to the book to be able to read it, and Dean took his sweet time turning the pages the way I needed them, but in the end we got there.
The spell, I said, and Dean left what he was doing to climb up on my head again and look down at the page. This must be it. Transmutatio. Spell that can turn one animal into another, including humans. The page was covered with scribbles, notes, and little diagrams in the margins.
How does it work?
Scale of a dragon, feather from a griffon… Griffons are real? I hope we don’t run into one of those one day. Huh. Hair from a werewolf. I suppose that’s what helps with the transformation part of it.
And an onion, Dean added from above me. What kind of crazy-ass spell needs an onion?
And who put it on us? Look at it. She needs to mix up this… crap… And then sprinkle the stuff on the road and the first people to cross it are cursed. So whoever it was must’ve done it right before we came, it’s a busy road.
You think someone has it in for us? Dean asked.
I snorted.
Yeah, I see what you mean, Dean agreed. Fine. So… Where is this person now?
Missing? I shook my head, making Dean squeak and clutch my ear. Doesn’t matter. See, there’s the counter-spell.
Looks even harder than the actual spell. Birch twigs cut at the full moon? Where do we even find that? And… OK, all this Wiccan crap we could get easily enough normally, but neither of us can exactly go shopping now.
And the fountain, I muttered.
The text said fountain of starlight, whatever the hell that meant, but one of the notes in the margins pointed to it. Map, pg. 29.
The spellbook definitely hadn’t had a map on page 29.
Hey, Dean. You want to go back inside?
Dean bit my ear, probably just to be annoying, but he scarpered down and back over to the house. (No, you didn’t nip it, Dean. You bit my ear.)
I knew it would take a while, and I was starting to get hungry, so I tried a bite of some of the knee-high grass. I figured I was probably doing a favour to whoever owned the place, and it didn’t taste awful - kind of like alfalfa sprouts.
I’d cropped a fair bit of it when I got the sudden feeling I was being watched.
If I’d had hands, one would’ve been on my Taurus in a heartbeat. As it was, I went as still as I could, stiller than I ever could’ve gone as a human, even a hunter.
I couldn’t see worth a dime, but I heard it: soft footsteps in the grass behind me. I swivelled my ears. It sounded like a fairly large person, but I couldn’t tell more than that.
And then I caught a whiff of… something. Something that had all my hunter’s instincts screaming -
Gunpowder.
I turned, head down ready to charge. There was a figure, a man. He was shorter than the human version of Dean. Bulky, though that could’ve been the way he was dressed.
He moved, and sunlight glinted on something in his hands.
I was pretty sure it wasn’t binoculars.
There was a deafening report, a bright flash, and a line of burning pain down my right shoulder. I staggered for a moment, and then I did the only thing I could - I ran straight at him. He screamed and fired again. Fortunately that shot went wide; I didn’t see where it went but it was nowhere near me.
Then he ran.
I chased him enough to see him disappear into the trees, enough to be certain he wasn’t going to come back in a hurry, and then I went back to the house. I had my blurry vision trained on the upstairs windows, so I jumped almost out of my skin when I heard a squirrel chittering, accompanied by Dean’s horrified voice in my head.
Sammy! The now-familiar feeling of something small and furry landing on my head, and then, God, Sammy, what the hell happened?
Hunter, I said tersely, suddenly remembering - and feeling - the gunshot wound. How bad is it?
Let me see. Dean slid down my neck to my shoulder. I let out a breath when I felt tiny paws probe the wound. Easy, easy, kiddo. Just a graze. We should find a stream or something, I can try to clean it out.
Did you find the map?
Yeah, and the fountain’s marked. He climbed back up to my head. So first let’s go back and you can use that geek brain of yours to memorize the map, since we can’t exactly carry it with us. Then we’ll find somewhere to clean off.
I think clean up can wait, I protested.
Dean shifted forward to sit on my nose. I had to cross my eyes to see him. His fur looked a little matted with dark grey splotches of something.
We’re going to clean up, he said flatly.
Part III: Squirrel